


Medkit + Story Telling

by AppalachianApologies



Series: Schrödinger's Sandbox [2]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Bombs, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, Mac needs a hug, Sandbox fic, Suspense, Suspicions, again there's a few other army people but it's basically just mac and jack, and even though he doesn't realize it yet jack does, defusing bombs, jack said that's my child now, misuse of a medkit lmao, oh also references to james being a shittyass father, ohoho there's almost a plot in this one that's pretty exciting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29367237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppalachianApologies/pseuds/AppalachianApologies
Summary: No matter the situation, Jack is always rambling and ranting, finding a way to help Mac with his words. Here's how it began back in Afghanistan.
Series: Schrödinger's Sandbox [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157210
Comments: 18
Kudos: 48





	Medkit + Story Telling

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Hello! So! I'm very excited for this fic, and that also means that my sandbox fics are officially going to become a series! All of these fics will be connected with a central plot that will slowly get revealed, but each individual fic will also have their own little plot!
> 
> Enjoy!

Mac is at the very end of his wits.

He and his overwatch had reached a state of tolerating each other, but Mac’s pretty sure that’s going to go down the drain. Because Jack “don’t call me Dalton” Dalton won’t. Shut. Up.

“...and walkin’ down with my sister, and I was so sure of it, I mean one hundred percent sure of it-”

Dropping a hand down to the sand, Mac grits out, “Do you ever stop talking?”

Clicking his tongue, Dalton replies, “He lives!”

“I’ve been disarming a  _ bomb, _ so sorry if I’m not engaging in your one-sided conversation enough,” Mac grumbles, sighing at the IED in question.

“Well it ain’t a one-sided conversation because of me,”

Choosing to ignore the older man, Mac sets his attention back on the IED. It’s messy, shock triggered, so Mac can’t afford to be focusing on anything else.

Evidently Dalton isn’t deterred though, because a second later he begins rambling again. He thinks it’s something about his sister and a cow. It’s been minutes, and Mac doesn’t even know if it’s a metaphorical cow, or if he’s actually speaking of an actual animal.

Shaking his head, Mac blocks him out.

Pena said it best, it’s him and the bomb.

Just him and the bomb.

“...so then the damned fence broke right in front of us. And my mama was absolutely pissed. Pissed, I’m telling you. Like when we broke her beloved frame a couple years earlier. Now  _ that  _ was one hell of a story…”

Just him. And the bomb.

*

Against all odds, Jack’s actually getting used to the kid. He’s also beginning to understand why Wright said that there’s something about that kid that’s different. Jack still isn’t sure what it is, but something’s definitely there.

Carl’s Jr. is also the slowest bomb nerd in the history of bomb nerds. Jack’s confident about that one.

He’s been overwatch for enough EOD techs to know that there’s no feasible way that MacGyver could disarm a bomb slower than he already is. Although it annoys him to no end, Jack would rather stay in a nest for three hours than get blown up in one and a half.

It gets boring though. It gets boring real quick. His other EODs would occasionally ramble as they’re disarming, murmuring random words about wires and charges and other things that Jack might’ve been able to understand if he didn’t ditch junior year of science. But MacGyver is dead silent when he works.

When there’s no nest, and Jack’s stuck right by the kid, all he can hear is the occasional sigh. MacGyver doesn’t even breathe loud. It’s slightly off putting.

No, it’s extremely off putting.

Jack’s never done well with silences. He grew up in a family with relatives from every direction all converging at the same place, and there was never a quiet moment. Even when he was little, in the dead of night, Jack used to hear his pops and uncles recounting war stories.

When he woke up, no matter how early, the radio was always on, and the cattle were already groaning. 

In his first stint in the Army, silence meant nothing good.

Silence meant that everyone around him was dead, or about to be. Silence meant ambushes, running out of ammo, and things going wrong.

With his Dealtas, silence became even worse. All of the men were rowdy as hell, always yelling when it wasn’t necessary, and Jack absolutely loved it. He fit in with them like a puzzle. But then things went wrong, people got hurt, and they disbanded.

The CIA was one of the few places in Jack’s life where silence existed. And he hated it. The damned bureaucrats and their disappointed frowns, keys clacking away as they write reports; it was awful. Field work was the only redeeming factor of the CIA.

When Jack came back to the Army, he was expecting the old noises of it. He wasn’t expecting near silence, listening only to the wind.

So really, it’s natural for him to fill the silence, because if there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that quiet never means something good.

His youngest sister’s birthday is coming up in a few days, and Jack’s been trapped in memories of her. If there was anyone who could mirror little Jack’s energy, it was her.

“One time,” Jack begins, already grinning at the thought, “She dared me to balance on the fence out by the horses. And obviously, I wasn’t gonna say no. I was older, and thus better, at everything that she did. That’s what I thought, anyway.

“So I get up, and I’m walkin’ down with my sister, and I was so sure of it, I mean one hundred percent sure of it-”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

Jack is honestly delighted that his tech has decided to talk. Talking means that the kid is still alive down there, still kickin’ and still pissing him off. Ideally, MacGyver would just make any sort of indication that he was still alive, but if rambling to the kid is the only way to manage that, then Jack will ramble on.

Besides, it’s not as if it’s any hardship on Jack.

Easily continuing the story, Jack tells the kid about how the fence broke the second Jack decided to put weight on it, effectively breaking his wrist on his right hand. And although the kid can’t see it, Jack grins when MacGyver absentmindedly responds with, “You probably deserved it.”

Talking means living.

Noise means living.

It’s only on the second week out, that the kid actually replies back without a sarcastic bite.

“How do you have so many stories about your family?” MacGyver murmurs, voice quiet as he does his best to focus on the tangle of wires. 

“Dunno,” Jack replies, looking back out between buildings, eyes searching for a familiar glint of a scope. “Gotta lot of family.”

With a scoff, the kid responds, “Yeah, I’m gathering that. But you just have so many damned stories. Like you’ve lived for a century.”

“You callin’ me old, kid?”

“I’m not  _ not  _ calling you old.”

Although he’d deny it, Jack snorts. “I’ve spent a long time at our ranch, so I gotta ‘lotta’ stories from it.”

There’s a beat of silence long enough for Jack to almost begin another story, before the kid questions, “You lived on a ranch?”

“Oh yeah,” He grins, validated to talk about his entire childhood. “The Dalton Ranch. One of a kind, I’ll tell you that much.”

“I thought that it was just a summer thing,” MacGyver mumbles, before cursing.

Instantly on high alert, Jack calls out, “You good? Are we about to go kaboom?”

Although muffled, he answers, “We’re not gonna ‘go kaboom,’ Jack. If we were gonna die from this, you’d know it.”

“You’re not exactly comforting me.”

“It wasn’t my goal,” MacGyver replies with a huff. “And also, if I had messed up, we’d be dead already. I just nicked my finger on my knife.”

“How bad?”

Jack can nearly hear the kid’s eye roll. MacGyver seems to hate it when anyone actually shows concern. “I’ve gotten paper cuts that were worse.”

“Yeah, I bet you have,” He teases, “What with bein’ a nerd and all. I’m sure you’ve spent days hunched over a textbook, paper cuts littering your fingers every time you turn a page, huh?” Despite the jab, Jack hopes that the kid will argue with him, or say anything about what he did before the army.

“Oh hah, hah.”

No such luck.

There’s nearly thirty seconds of silence before Jack gets put on edge, and he starts up the story again. “I can’t believe you thought that I only stayed at the ranch during the summer. I wouldn’t be a real Texan if that were the case.”

“That’s how you define a ‘real Texan’?”

“Hell yeah, brother.” After a huff in response, Jack explains, “Lived there my entire life. My grandpa started runnin’ it after he got back from ‘Nam, but it’s grown a hell of a lot since then. My pops took over it after his own stint in the army. Now my mama runs it.” Jack doesn’t even bother to try and hide his pride. He loves his family.

“She’s not the only one who lives there though,” Jack continues, “Couple of my aunts, couple of family friends, they’re all hanging around.”

Surprising him, MacGyver speaks up. “Huh. You have a lot of a family.”

“Hell yeah I do. Locals used to call the Daltons rabbits.”

“I don’t think that was a compliment,”

“Daltons always take everything as a compliment.”

That gets a genuine laugh out of the kid. “Yeah, I’m learning that.”

“You tryin’ to say something?”

“Uh uh,” MacGyver denies, but Jack can still hear the smile on the kid’s face. “Alright, we’re good. Needs to be transported, but it’s not going to detonate.”

Even though MacGyver can’t see it, Jack nods. “Good job, kid.”

“Not a kid.”

“Eh,”

“I’m not a kid.”

Bobbing his head back and forth, Jack points out, “You’re certainly not an adult.”

Finally coming face to face with his overwatch, MacGyver wipes his hands across his pants. “I literally am.”

“Agree to disagree.”

Giving him a nasty look, MacGyver counters, “You can’t agree to disagree on a quantitative fact. That’s just- that doesn’t even make sense.”

“Yeah well,” Jack drawls, “I never learned about no quantum facts, so I’m in the clear.”

“There are  _ so  _ many things wrong with that statement,” MacGyver complains, falling into the passenger seat of their vehicle. “One, the word is quantitative. Two, just because you never learned about anything doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist, and three-”

When MacGyver cuts himself off, Jack just grins at the boy.

“You’re just doing this to annoy me, aren’t you?”

Jack turns back to the dirt in front of them, smile stretched across his face. “Agree to disagree?”

*

No matter how many nights pass, Mac still feels out of place at the bunks. Granted, an introvert like Mac isn’t exactly the most common sight in the army, but still. It gets to him.

But that’s not the only thing that’s keeping him up. See, the other thing that keeps him up is his damned overwatch, who Mac thought would’ve been gone by now.

It’s been a little under three weeks, but Dalton’s still sticking with him, following Mac after every IED, and it feels so unnatural. Mac’s just been waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for him to leave, waiting for Colonel Martinez to tell him that Dalton’s been transferred by ‘random chance.’

Somehow, every day, Dalton’s still with him. And there’s no way that Mac could forget it either, not with the incessant and never ending rambling.

“...You see, I was confident when it came to the new colts, but pops didn’t trust me with Gordon yet. And of course, that pissed me off. Then again, I was sixteen, so everything pissed me off,”

“Sixteen?” Mac questions, swinging out the toothpick on his swiss army knife. “So what, about two centuries ago?”

“Just because your sixteenth birthday was yesterday don’t mean you can make fun of mine,” Dalton announces, but there’s no bite to it.

Huffing, Mac insists, “Dalton, you know how old I am.”

“I thought I told you to stop callin’ me that.”

“You really want me to call you ‘Jack’?”

“Yeah,” He scoffs, “What else are you gonna call me? Sergeant? Hell no!”

Mac lets out a smile. Everyone else in the army is intent on being called by their official titles, especially by someone as young as Mac. It’s a nice change for once.

Despite all of the older man’s teasing about Mac’s age, Jack is the only one who takes him seriously, trusts him even, despite the age difference. The last person who did that was Bozer.

Of course, that doesn’t stop Jack from constantly jabbing at his age.

A few days later finds the duo on the side of a building, sun beating down on them as if it’s life depended on it. They’ve only been out for thirty minutes, but both of them are already sweating.

Evidently, sweating does not stop Jack from talking. “I remember last time the sun was this bad. Makes everything feel drier, don’t it?”

Popping the casing off of an IED, Mac absentmindedly hums, “Mmhm.”

“Hell though, it hasn’t been that bad since my first couple of tours. Back with my first bomb nerd, Correa. Man, that guy was fucking weird. You two would get along.”

Mac’s fingers pause. “Is that a compliment?”

Ignoring the question, Jack continues, “That was about a decade ago. Before you were even born.”

Spluttering, Mac argues, “Wait- Jack- What do you mean? Of course I was alive!”

Mac knows that if he looks up he’ll see Jack’s goofy grin. “Yeah, barely. You were still in elementary.”

“Junior high.”

“You were ten.”

“Yeah, I was in junior high.”

“What kind of ten year old is in junior high?”

Shrugging with a single shoulder Mac replies, “I skipped a grade.”

“Of course you did,” Jack mumbles.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Clicking his tongue, Jack explains, “All of you bomb nerds are some sort of geniuses. I shouldn’t even be surprised that you skipped a grade. Hold on, did you skip more than one?”

“No,” Mac shakes his head, “My dad tried to get me to, but then…” Mac trails off, frowning at the side of the casing. 

Ignorant to the bomb, Jack coaxes, “But then? Kid?”

“Sorry,” Mac murmurs, all of his focus on the IED in front of him, “I need to- sorry.”

“Whoa brother, don’t apologize. Just focus on not blowing us up.”

Mac opens his mouth to reply, but he’s not even sure if any sound ends up coming out. He can’t focus on anything else right now, except the bomb that’s going to kill him if he does this wrong. It’s just him and the bomb.

Taking a deep breath, Mac pulls out his knife.

Just him and the bomb.

*

Wright ends up tracking Jack down himself this time, giving him a clap on the shoulder. “How’re you doing with MacGyver?”

“You were right,”

“Huh?”

“There’s something about him,” Jack explains, “There’s something about him that I can’t even begin to describe.”

With a friendly punch, Wright points out, “Yeah well, vocabulary was never your strong suit, now was it?”

“Ouch man. That hurts me,” He grins. 

“Nah. I’ve read enough of your incident reports to make me question if you ever went to school.”

“You kiddin’ me? I was the damned star of high school.”

“Were you, now?”

Jack just laughs, Wright joining in a second later. “Listen man, why’d you come find me? Just catchin’ up?”

Sobering up, Wright shakes his head. “Nah. It’s something about MacGyver.”

“What’s wrong with the bomb nerd?” Part of Jack wants to tack on, ‘besides the obvious,’ but he stops himself.

“Well,” Wright frowns, “Nothing.”

“I’m not following.”

“We report all IEDs, we have to.”

Nodding, Jack points out, “Yeah man, I know. I’ve been doing this just as long as you.”

“All of the ones that MacGyver disarms, all the reports of them, they all get sent out to someone on the outside.”

Jack definitely doesn’t need to be an ex CIA agent to know that something’s fishy. “How’d you find out?”

“Did some snooping I probably shouldn’t’ve,” Wright truthfully answers. “All of MacGyver’s reports get sent to the same place.”

“Where?” After the look that Wright gives him, Jack shakes his head. “Right. Classified. You don’t think the kid is up to something, do you?”

Shaking his head, Wright quickly denies, “No, no. MacGyver probably doesn’t even know that his reports are getting sent out. It’s the opposite. I think someone’s up to something that involves MacGyver without his knowledge, you know? I was gonna bring it up to the higher ups, but, well.”

“But if it’s the higher ups that are sending the reports out, then you’ve got yourself a one way ticket to,” Rather than finish the statement, Jack just gives a low whistle.

“Exactly.”

“Alright, I gotta ask,” Jack sighs, “Any reports havin’ to do with me being sent out?”

“Nope,” Wright shakes his head. “That’s why it’s even weirder. Overwatch and specialists are nearly tied to the hip. So I figured if something hinky was going on, it was with both of you.”

Frowning, Jack confirms, “But it’s just the kid?”

“Just the kid.”

Jack shakes his head. “Damn. I’ll keep an eye out. You’ll tell me if something else is goin’ on?”

“First person I’ll go to,” Wright nods.

“Good man.” With one last clap on the shoulder, Jack and Wright turn the other way.

By the time he gets back to the bunks, Jack still hasn’t decided what he wants to tell the kid. If something’s going on, he shouldn’t hide it from him. On the other hand, if MacGyver knew about it and this unknown someone found out, hell could be raised.

Jack will figure it out, he always does. And if someone’s spending their time creating a dossier of a twenty year old, Jack’s going to find out why.

Riding out to the next suspicious area the next morning, Jack frowns to himself.

He spent all night attempting to figure out why someone would want this much information on the kid, before realizing that he doesn’t know anything about him. Other than the fact that he skipped a grade some time before he was ten years old.

Nothing else.

Not even a mention of a friend.

“So back when I was seventeen,” Jack grins when MacGyver instantly groans, “I decided that it was time for me to be able to drive my pop’s new car.”

“Something tells me he wasn’t happy about that?” MacGyver questions, fiddling with that red knife of his.

“Oh yeah. Bit of an understatement.”

With a satisfying  _ click  _ when the tweezers slide back into place, the kid asks, “Was he one of those people that are obsessed with their cars?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say obsessed,” Jack answers. “But he sure as hell was proud of them. Why, you know someone like that?” Not exactly smooth, but the kid isn’t paying enough attention to notice. He hopes.

MacGyver hums. “Not really. But they weren’t really happy when I took apart the entire engine one evening.”

Finally, he might be getting somewhere with the kid. “You did  _ what? _ Who’s car?”

“My dad’s.”

Jack nearly crashed the damned jeep. Out of the month that he’s known the kid, this is the second time that his dad has even been mentioned. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmhm.”

Act cool. “How old were you?”

Laughing, as if it was a self depreciating inside joke to himself, the kind answers, “Eight.”

“You got into a car engine when you were eight?”

MacGyver evidently doesn’t realize how bat shit insane that is. “Yeah. I mean, the garage was open.”

As much as Jack wants to continue this conversation and learn more about the kid, he can’t at the moment. After all, they’re out in the desert for a reason. Braking, Jack points across the dash to the right. “Side of that building, right over there.”

Instantly scanning the area, both MacGyver and Jack get out of the car. Putting a hand in front of the kid, Jack grunts, “Hey, hey. Let me go first, clear it.”

“It’s out in the open,” The kid points out.

“Don’t matter. Unless, of course, you’d like to get some lead in your head.”

Putting his arms out in front of him, MacGyver shrugs, “Go ahead, go clear it.”

Walking past, Jack murmurs, “I’ve never heard someone sound so unhappy to not be getting shot at.” If there’s a reply, Jack’s too tuned out to hear it. 

A moment later, he turns around. “Alright, we’re good.”

“Did you see the bomb?”

“Think I see a pressure plate.”

“Where?”

Nodding to a couple of rugs, Jack replies, “Right by me. Dunno for sure though. That’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

Although he makes a face, MacGyver doesn’t reply to the comment. “I need you to lift up the two corners here. At the same time as me though, okay? We can’t pick it up and leave uneven pressure.”

“I got it.”

“Count of three?” After Jack nods, MacGyver counts down, “On three. One, two, three.”

As soon as the rug is gone, Jack whistles. “Well. That’s sure as hell more than just ‘suspicious.’”

After setting the rug down a few feet to the left, the kid crouches down. “It’s large, but not very complex. But if something goes wrong…”

“We go kaboom.”

Sucking in a breath, MacGyver nods, “Yeah.” Then, turning to face his overwatch, he adds, “You might want to take a step back. As in, fifty feet back.”

“Hell no,” Jack replies without thinking twice. “I didn’t bring home all of my bomb nerds by abandoning them when there’s something a little unpleasant.”

“If this goes off it’s going to be a lot worse than unpleasant, Jack. And you’re not abandoning me, you’re standing fifty feet away. That’s not- that’s not even close to abandonment.”

Storing that statement away for later, Jack argues, “Well, whatever the case is, I ain’t leaving you, MacGyver.”

For a second it looks like he’s going to protest, but then his shoulders fall, and the kid murmurs, “Just call me Mac.”

“Just worry about the bomb.”

With a short nod, the kid crouches down, slowing his breaths as he inches closer. Even though it’s clear where the pressure plate is, it’s obvious that he doesn’t want to take any chances.

Feeling his own heart thud in his chest, Jack watches as he extends a tool from his SAK, doing his best to get a better look at the insides of the bomb.

“It won’t be the explosive that’ll kill us,”

“No?”

“It’ll be the shrapnel.”

“A shrapnel bomb that’s pressure activated?”

Shrugging, Mac points out, “It’s a whole world out here. Whatever works, works.” Still, even as he says it, the kid is frowning.

They both know that something doesn’t seem quite right. “I can deal with the explosives if I can loop the circuit from the pressure plate.” After Jack doesn’t say anything, Mac spells it out, “I need something conductive.” Glancing around, he adds, “I could use a piece of my knife, but I need it to stay in the same place, which means that I also need some sort of binding agent.”

Jack opens his mouth in an attempt to help, but the kid’s eyes then light up.

“Oh! Med-kit. In the jeep.”

“You’re not just tryin’ to get me to leave, are you?” Jack questions, giving the kid a look.

Shaking his head, Mac explains, “No. I need you to get the suturing kit inside, also a bore needle, adhesive tape, and any elastic or stretchy bandages.”

Jack takes a single step before turning around. “Do you want me to just grab the whole thing?”

“Yeah,” Mac blinks. “Yeah, that works too.”

“Alright. Don’t blow yourself up, got it, kid?”

With a nod, Mac requests, “Just hurry.”

And hurry Jack does. It takes him just under a minute to come back with the thick bag of med supplies, completely field ready. Except usually for field medicine, not disarming bombs in the field. Jack sighs to himself. There’s a first time for everything, and if this gets him out alive, he doesn’t really have a right to judge.

Just as Jack places the kit down (far away from the pressure plate), Mac’s already giving instructions. “There’s a bore needle in there, right?”

“Yep,”

“What gauge?”

“Twenty-five.”

Mac takes a breath in, squinting in thought. “Okay. Yeah, that’ll work. Do you have your knife with you?”

Nodding, Jack points out, “Yeah, but it ain’t as fancy as yours.”

“That doesn’t matter. You need to cut and pry the plastic off of the syringe, so the needle itself is completely free. And there can’t be any plastic touching it, okay? Because if there is, then-”

“We go kaboom.”

“Yeah. How big are the needles in the suturing kit?”

Pausing from tearing apart the plastic syringe, Jack gives him a look. “Small?”

Jack regrets the single word when Mac sounds like he’s about to panic. “I need you to be more specific!”

“‘Bout an inch and a half? Maybe a bit more?”

Mac curses. “That’s not long enough.”

“What exactly do you need these for?”

“I need to loop two different circuits,” The kid starts to explain, “To create a closed circuit for the pressure plate, and then a closed circuit for the bomb itself. Then, and only then, will it be safe to disarm. I’m going to use the bore needle for one of the circuits, but I still need something else for the other.” After a moment, he adds, “I could break off one of the tools in my knife, but I might need it later. Can I have the radio?”

Rummaging around the medkit, Jack replies, “I’ll do you one better. Does this work?” He asks, holding up an aluminum finger splint. Thank god for extensive field kits.

Jack hides a grin when he sees Mac’s stressed face lose a bit of its tension. “Yes! Toss it to me, I’ll shave off all of the foam on the inside.”

After a couple minutes of the duo destroying medical supplies, Mac looks like he’s back to panicking. With a breath, he announces, “You don’t have to be here for this. You can go back to a safer distance.”

“And lose out on all the fun? Hell naw! C’mon, what do you need me to do?”

Mac opens and closes his mouth a few times, gaping like a fish, before taking another breath and answering, “Grab all of the adhesives from the kit, and then crouch down across from me. After I loop a circuit, you’re going to need to secure it, so none of the metal moves.”

“No pressure, right?”

Mac doesn’t even dignify that with a response, and Jack doesn’t blame him. It probably doesn’t deserve one. Grabbing a few more materials from the kit, Jack settles down across from his tech, just as directed. “Alright, I got elastic bandages, butterfly bandages, duct tape, and however much superglue hasn’t already dried up.”

Nodding, Mac requests, “Don’t use the duct tape, the sides are conductive. How many butterfly bandages do we have?”

“Whole box.”

“Perfect. We’re going to use those to secure it.”

“Ready when you are, kid.”

Mac looks up. “I’m about to disarm a bomb to save our lives and you’re still calling me ‘kid’?”

Shrugging, Jack grins, “Well, when the name fits…”

“Just,” The younger man shakes his head, “Get ready to tape, okay?” After a confirmation nod from Jack, Mac takes a deep breath. “The bomb will go off after the pressure plate is released, not when pressure is put on it,”

“Please don’t do what I think you’re going to do,” Jack mutters, sending a prayer to a God he doesn’t really believe in.

Already moving toward the plate, Mac replies, “That’s the only way to do this without disrupting the circuit and triggering the bomb.”

Grimacing, Jack mumbles, “Just be careful.”

“I will. Ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

With a grim fascination, Jack watches as the kid takes another deep breath, closing his eyes, before setting a heavy foot down on the pressure plate. He’s one crazy son of a bitch. Now he knows why the other overwatches call him bordering on suicidal.

Silently, barely breathing, Mac pulls the small wire cutters from his SAK, and slowly pulls at the wires underneath him. Before he’s broken them completely, he uses his other hand to hold the bore needle against them. “You ready to tape?” He asks, without looking up.

“Hell yeah.”

Mac flinches when his tool cuts completely through the wire, and then lets out a breathy laugh when he realizes he hasn’t been impaled with shrapnel. Yet. “Okay, I’ll hold the middle, bandage the sides. And don’t move it!” Mac adds, just for good measure. 

“I got it, I got it,” Jack replies, hoping that his voice doesn’t betray any fear. He’s been next to bombs for half his life, but that doesn’t make him any less human. “How we lookin’, kid?”

Ignoring the nickname, Mac breathes, “I think good. We won’t know until I let go, though. Maybe a few more?”

Jack complies, and a minute later asks, “Now?”

“Yeah,” Mac swallows. “I’ll, uh, I’ll let go. See if it holds.” Staring down at the strange mess of materials, Mac clenches his jaw, before releasing his fingers. Miraculously, they aren’t dead. “Now for the other test,” He huffs, before scrambling off of the pressure plate.

Sitting back on his haunches, Mac gives a breathy laugh.

Jack joins him, shaking his head in disbelief. “Good job, brother.”

“Not done yet,” Mac sobers. “I have to loop the other circuit before I can disarm it.”

“So what you’re sayin’, is that we gotta prepare for round two?”

Already moving to the explosives, Mac nods. “Got the butterfly bandages with you?”

“Yep. It’s all you.”

The two of them repeat the process again, which is somehow both less and more stressful than the first time. The aluminum splint is far heavier than the needle, but neither say anything about it. It’s either going to work, or it isn’t.

Holding his breath, Jack places as many bandages as he can around the contraption, hoping that it’s enough to keep the metals in place. After he’s done, he turns to Mac. “Alright kid, ‘you ready to let go?”

“No.”

Jack does a double take. “Wait, what? Mac, you gotta let go of the splint. It’s secured,”

Shaking his head, Mac insists, “It’s too heavy. As soon as I let go, the splint will weigh down the wires, pulling on the adhesive, and the circuit will break.”

“Well, alright.” Jack sucks in a breath. “What do you propose?”

Without missing a beat, Mac answers, “You need to change places with me, and hold onto it. I can disarm the IED when the circuit loop is completed, and if you hold onto it, then there’s a better chance that the loop will stay completed, and-”

“I got it,” Jack interrupts, not wanting the kid’s thoughts to spiral. “Just do what you gotta do, kid. How do you want me to hold this?”

All he gets in response is a blink. “You’ll… do it?”

Jack sends him an alarmed look. “What the hell else would I do?”

“I don’t know,” Mac admits. “I just figured you’d be a little more weary.”

“Are you gonna let me go kaboom?”

“No!” Mac shakes his head.

Shrugging, Jack replies, “Well then we’re good. How do you want me to hold onto this?”

Mac bites his lip. “Just how I am. And don’t move.”

Taking the kid’s place, Jack nods, “I won’t.”

“Okay. I just- I’ll try to be fast, okay?”

“I trust ya, kid.”

A choked laughter bubbles out of Mac, fingers twisting around themselves. Jack’s familiar with the laugh, and there ain’t anything funny about it. It’s a laugh from shock. “If I can’t disarm it-”

“Then neither of us will be alive to get reprimanded,” Jack unabashedly replies. “I’ve already seen you disarm dozens of bombs, kid. This is no different.”

“No,” Mac shakes his head, “No, this time if anything goes wrong you won’t be able to run.”

Jack looks up, waiting patiently until the younger man’s eyes settle on his. “Even if I could, I’m not leaving. I’m not running.”

“But if something does go wrong-”

“Don’t let it.” Mac’s breath catches. “I’ve seen you disarm bombs before. I wouldn’t have run from last week’s bomb, just like I won’t run from this one, and I’m not counting the fact that my hand is currently being used as a tool.”

With another deep breath, Mac nods. “Okay.”

Slowly, the kid draws his eyes back to the explosive, and begins the process that Jack’s never quite understood, even after being overwatch for years.

The kid is so young.

He’s so fucking young.

Mac’s a child, in a war zone, disarming a fucking bomb. Even though Jack knew it the second he met the kid, this time the realization twists something in his insides now.

Keeping his hand steady, Jack clears his throat. “You know, I haven’t told you how I learned to play poker yet,”

When the kid doesn’t immediately tell him to shut up, Jack takes it as a win. “I learned when I was just a kid. Real little too, I was in junior high. And unlike you,” Jack grins, “I was the right age for junior high.”

There’s a quiet scoff from the kid, and a bit of Jack’s tension bleeds away. “My grandad and pops used to hold poker games every Sunday. It drove my mama crazy, and it definitely didn’t help the fact that they always did it after church,” Jack chuckles.

“They used to all sit around the table, smoking and drinking, but they’d be laughing the entire damned time. Havin’ the time of their lives. And as I got older, I got jealous. Fourteen year old me really wanted to learn poker, you know? Be an adult.

“So I started hanging around the kitchen on Sundays, gettin’ in the way of my mama as she was cooking, watching my pops and his friends play. Slowly I started learnin’ the rules, and even better, I learned the tells for old Johnny and Mr. Turner.

“Finally, one Sunday, I just plopped my ass down on one of the seats, ready to play. Those old men all stared at me, but I just stared straight back, and after a full minute, my pops just handed me a beer and we got playin’.”

Grinning at the memory, Jack continues, “And let me tell you, that was one  _ doozy  _ of a game…”

*

Mac’s grateful that his fingers aren’t shaking, even though it feels like that at any moment they could begin to. His entire body is wired tight with nerves, and nothing seems to help.

And in the background, his overwatch is talking. Again. But that’s fine.

Because if Jack’s still talking, then Jack’s still breathing, and Mac hasn’t killed him. Logically, Mac knows that if he were to mess this up, they’d both die, but the reminder that Jack is still alive and talking is comforting.

Right now, it feels like the only thing keeping him sane. 

By the time Mac’s on the final snip, Jack’s just gotten to the main event of the allegedly infamous first kiss story. According to Jack, the entire town knows it.

Leaning back, dropping his swiss army knife into his pocket, Mac sighs. “We’re good. We’re done.”

Pausing mid impression, Jack confirms, “I can take my hand off?”

Rubbing a hand of his own over his face, Mac nods, “Yeah. Take it off. It’s safe.”

“Good,” Jack grins, “Because it was startin’ to cramp.”

Mac can’t suppress a flinch when Jack moves his fingers, but when no explosion goes off, he nearly starts laughing. A hysterical feeling rises from his chest, threatening to break out, but he pushes it back in. 

Hauling him up from the floor with a hand, Jack asks, “You ready to head back?”

“Please,” Mac agrees. “I’d be fine with never seeing this place again.”

“You and me both, brother.”

On the way back to camp, Jack gets even further into the first kiss story, but still hasn’t even reached the point to which girl it was. Mac gets the feeling that there’s a lot of backstory.

They’re both stepping out of the vehicle when Mac asks, “So it  _ was  _ Kristie, right?”

Holding out a hand, Jack chuckles, “See, that’s what everyone thinks.”

Mac gives him a confused look, but before he can question anything else, Colonel Martinez steps into view.

“Dalton, MacGyver. You didn’t check in. Had me worried there.”

“We’re all good, sir,” Jack quickly answers, back straightening from reflex only. “MacGyver disarmed the bomb, sir.”

There’s a minute nod. “Good to hear it.”

“Oh and, sir?” Jack calls out, just as he and Mac are already turning the other way.

“Dalton?”

“We’re gonna need a restock on the medkit.”

**Author's Note:**

> Jack's story about breaking his wrist after walking on a fence was the way that I broke my fourth bone, and Jack's poker story is based off of how my dad learned to play poker when he was fourteen lmao.
> 
> I've been having such a blast writing MacGyver, and I just wanted to say thank you to those of you who interacted from the previous story- that meant so so much to me! It's always nerve wracking joining a new fandom, but you guys are so fucking awesome, and have made me feel so much better :D
> 
> PS, the title of the series is actually going to have to do with one of the later stories i have planned!
> 
> I'd love to meet more of you guys, so come talk with me on [tumblr](https://appalachianapologies.tumblr.com/) (AppalachianApologies) if you'd like! I'm always so down to meet new people :D
> 
> I love you all very much, and I hope you all are doing okay. If you find yourself in a bad or scary situation, here are some hotlines (Please keep in mind that the written out numbers are US hotlines)
> 
> National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673  
> National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233
> 
> If you don't live in America and need someone to talk to, here's a list of [international hotlines.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines)  
> You are not alone, and I love you all <3
> 
> Much love to all of you, and take care until tomorrow!! <3


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